Red X: Revolver
by Menamebephil
Summary: AU . Four Words: Teen Titans Spaghetti Western. No joke. Apologies to Rockstar inc. Read it, please. It's good, I promise! Well, it's okay, at least. Seriously, read it. It's not that long.
1. Scorpion Brand

Red X: Revolver

**Red X: Revolver.**

_This has got to be the _strangest_ idea I've ever had. I can only blame the fact that I recently played through "Red Dead Revolver", and this is what came of it. To anyone who's played "Red Dead Revolver": fear not, I'm not going to simply write out the plot, inserting different names. However, some elements WILL be the same. Mainly this first chapter. To anyone who _hasn't_ played the game, I've got four words for you: Teen Titans Spaghetti Western._

_Yippie-ki-yay, motherfuckers!_

_N.B: This story is rated "M", due to language, liquor and violence. Lots and lots of violence._

**Chapter 1: Scorpion Brand.**

Nate Epps made his way up the hill to his home, weighed down by the stupendous amount of items he had recently bought. Things were looking up for him. He and his partner had hit a rich seam in Bear Mountain, more than enough to ensure his entire family lived like kings for generations to come. As he opened his gates he cried out.

"Red! Marlene! Come out here, I got something to tell you!"

As his family ran towards him, they noticed his wide grin. "What? Have some luck at last?"

"Darlin', we hit a vein of gold as wide as a locomotive, clean through Bear Mountain! Scat's just goin' to secure the claim in town." Nate was cut off by his wife's exited squeal, and she dived towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And lookie here, son." At this Red, his fifteen year-old boy, craned his neck and brought out something from behind his back. The boy's eyes widened when his father produced a revolver of astounding beauty. Its barrel was considerably longer than normal, and was inlaid with gold filigree around the chamber. What really drew the boy's attention was the figure of a scorpion, raised out of the handle and picked out in gold.

"What is it?"

"It's a Scorpion Revolver. There's only two in the whole world, and Scat's got the other. We had 'em made special, to celebrate our partnership."

"Can I try it?"

Nate chuckled at his son's forwardness. "Son, someday this fine weapon'll be yours, but for now, you can have my old pistol."

"Thanks, Dad!" Red's excitement at getting a gun of his own eclipsing his disappointment.

"Now, why don't you go practice with that thing? Get on down to the creek, and try your hand at the targets."

Nate chuckled as his boy ran off down the hill, eager to try out his new weapon.

"You men and your toys." Marlene's voice cut through his thoughts.

His grin widened. "That reminds me. How are _we_ gonna celebrate, darlin'?" He asked as he pulled her towards him.

* * *

Red grinned as he fired shot after shot into the straw man, effectively tearing it to shreds from the sheer amount of bullets being pumped into it. He then turned his attention to a row of glass bottles that his Dad had set up as precision targets. Here, he did less well. He had been there for ten minutes and had only broken three of them. Just as he was aiming for one last shot, his father's voice rang out, and the desperation was clear in his tone.

"Get up here, Red. We're being raided!"

With only a moment's hesitation, Red ran up the path that led to his home. As he ran, he saw a small ball of flame fly erratically towards his house, and moments later the building was burning. Stifling a cry, he forced his legs to work harder than ever before, and accelerated. A man noticed him, and took aim at the boy. The boy was faster, and had shot the man three times in the torso before he could blink. Not pausing, the boy ran on.

Running on adrenaline, fear and rage, Red raced to his father's side, leaping over several cadavers. As he reached the man's side, Nate turned towards him, and missed the man taking aim at him from behind. Marlene noticed, though, and tried to warn him. Red saw, and aimed over his father's shoulder. Neither of them were fast enough, and Nate took a bullet to the back, piercing his lung.

"You bastard!" Marlene screamed, launching herself at the tall figure in the uniform of the Confederate Army. He shot her down before she had taken two steps.

The man, whose uniform identified him as a Colonel, stepped towards the boy who kneeled before the corpse of his father, a shocked expression on his face. As he took aim, the boy turned, and looked straight into the man's eyes. Red's face took on a look of visceral rage, and he snatched up his father's gun from where it had fallen.

In a pile of glowing embers.

Screaming in shock and agony, Red swung the revolver towards the murderer, and blindly loosed a shot. There was an explosion, a baptism of gore, as the man's right arm was parted from his shoulder, and his blood splattered onto Red. Unable to hold on to the red hot weapon any longer, Red dropped the revolver, and ran blindly into the night.

* * *

Hours later, Red stumbled back to the pile of ashes and twisted wreckage that had been his home. Sobbing all the while, he found a shovel that had escaped the inferno, and dug two shallow graves.

When he left, he took only two things with him: his father's pistol, and a red cloth that had belonged to his mother, which he wound around his injured hand, on which was embossed a burn scar in the shape of a scorpion.

_**I realise that this chapter is little more than a rewrite of the first scene of the game, but I didn't really have much room to manoeuvre here, not if I wanted the future plot points to make sense. The next chapter will change things drastically, I promise. Anyhoo review and tell me what you thought, please!**_


	2. The Hive Gang

Chapter 2: The Hive Gang

**Chapter 2: The Hive Gang.**

"Who're you fellas?" Seymour looked uneasily at the two men who had wandered unconcernedly into the camp. This was the _Hive Gang _camp, for Christ's sake. You didn't just _saunter_ in!

Not if you wanted to be able to saunter out, that is.

However, these two newcomers seemed unconcerned. This meant one of three things. They might not know where they were.

"Hey, Gar, is this the place?" The taller of the two, dressed in a ragged black poncho, grey jeans, dark brown boots and a low, wide-brimmed black hat, asked his companion, who unfurled a piece of paper.

"Yup. This guy here goes by the name of Seymour. Wanted for Murder and Mayhem, along with petty larceny." His companion was maybe a couple of inches shorter, but the height difference was exaggerated by his stance, which was a constant crouch, as though he were tense. His clothes consisted of a shirt and trousers, along with an outer jacket and poncho, all in various themes of the colour green.

Bounty hunters. Well, that left the other two options. Either they were phenomenally stupid- Seymour reached for his gun, but the one in black was so much faster. A revolver barrel was digging into his forehead before he could blink- or they were all about to die.

The last option was looking likelier all the time. Red pulled the trigger.

Suddenly, the other figures around the camp fire jumped, and saw two men, standing in the shadows. Red glanced around. 1…2…3…4…5. Yep, there were the Numerous quintuplets. Big guy with the hair, which would be Mammoth, a hefty price on him. And the midget…there, by the tents. Gizmo. Little man, big brains. Too big for his own good, and…was that a blunderbuss?

To his right, Gar stepped into the firelight, and shrugged, which caused his poncho to slide to the ground. Immediately he was the centre of shocked attention. That generally happened, the first time people saw what was under his poncho.

He had two bandoliers, which he wore like suspenders. However, instead of ammo, they held knives. Four on each strap. At his hip, on the left, there was a revolver. Red had forced him to get one, but he never used it. He was a terrible shot, and he disliked guns. "Too loud", he'd once said.

But give him a knife, and he was an _animal_.

As the Numerouses closed in, hands on weapons, Gar flicked his wrists, and had two of his knives impaled in two of the bandits before anyone registered his hands moving. Red took this as the signal, and pulled out his second revolver, firing all six shots at Mammoth's head. If half the stories surrounding the man were true, he'd need them. Beside him, Gar had retrieved his daggers, from the head and chest of the unlucky men respectively, and was merrily lacerating the remainder of the larcenous siblings. Holstering his now empty gun, Red kept the other one ready, and crept towards the tent. He pulled it aside, and Gizmo immediately fired directly at the open flap.

Luckily for Red, he'd not actually been standing in the opening at the time. He'd stood to one side and opened it from there, so the only victim of Gizmo's antique weapon was the final Numerous, Billy, who had run towards the tent, presumably for reinforcements.

"Sorry, little man, but I'm not _that_ stupid." Red called from outside, and opened fire on where he guessed Gizmo would be. By the sound of the screams of agony suddenly cut short, he guessed right.

"Alright, Red, we done here?" Gar wiped his blades on one of his victim's shirts.

"Yup." Replied Red, lighting up a cheroot. Gar wrinkled up his nose.

"Ugh. Those things'll kill you, you know?"

Red frowned. "Not a chance. That doctor guy, you know, the one up at Unity? Well, he said they're practically a medicine."

"Yeah, but he's the one that makes potions with the circus."

"Ah, shut up, and help me get these carcasses on the cart. It's a long ride to Widow's Patch, and I want to get there before sundown tomorrow."

"Widow's Patch? That dustbowl? You think they'll have the money?"

"Yeah. Why shouldn't they?"

Gar shook his head. "Well, there's that gang, headed by whatsisname."

"Whatsisname?"

"Yeah, you know, big fat ginger guy. Terrible complexion." Gar snapped his fingers theatrically.

"Oh, you mean the Freak?"

"Yeah! Well, I heard back in Unity that his boys had moved in 'bout a month back and just taken over. Apparently the only people that actually _live_ there any more are the Sherriff and his daughter, and _they're _only alive 'cause it'd be a waste of a bullet to kill the old guy."

Red grinned. "Well, if the Freak and his boys've got the money, we'll just have to see _them_ then, won't we?" Gar grinned back, and mounted up.

* * *

The ride was a long one, and Red found himself reflecting, something he often did in calm moments. That had been one of the reasons he'd become a bounty hunter- not many calm moments in _that _profession.

But, nevertheless there were some, and he was experiencing one. Widows Patch. He hadn't been there since he'd met Gar. He smiled as he remembered how that'd gone.

_Red walked into town. Well, it wasn't really a _town_, more a collection of shacks with a train stop, gathered around a water butt. Nonetheless, it had a saloon, and that was good enough for him._

_Outside the saloon doors, a group of drunks were heckling a young man, looked like he was about nineteen, a year or so younger than Red._

"_Hey, boy, we don' like strangers in this town. You better just keep on m-movin', or you might jus' fin' yourself doin' the hemp fandango."_

_The man ignored them, whistling to his dog, who ran to his feet._

"_You lissnin' to me?" One of the drunks was angry. The man still paid no attention. "I said, you lissinin' to me?" When this elicited no reaction, the drunk decided on a sure fire way to get the man's attention. He shot his dog. The man's eyes had flashed, and he'd swung his arm in a circular motion, slicing the man's throat with a dagger._

"_Nice." Red had decided to make his presence known._

"_Who're you?"_

"_Red." The figure nodded._

"_Gar."_

"_Well, now we're properly introduced, shall we go before we find out if that man had friends?"_

_Gar nodded._

A few hours later, when they had gotten a fair distance from the town, he had found out that Gar was interested in making a little money- no surprises there. Red, who back then had been in the bounty hunting game for about two years, had suggested a partnership, and the rest, as they say, was history.

As for his life before that, details were hazy. Apparently he'd been adopted by the Lone Wolf tribe of Indians on Bear Mountain. That had explained his affinity with knives, as well as the fact that he was the best tracker Red had ever seen. That guy could trail a coyote for three days over rock, and had.

"There it is." Widows Patch. What a shithole. Red just hoped that they had the bounty the poster had advertised.


	3. Widow's Patch

Chapter 3: Widow's Patch

**Chapter 3: Widow's Patch.**

"Sorry, son, but them Freak's boys done cleared us out. Don't get me wrong, you two did good, but we ain't got nothin' we can give you." Sherriff O'Grady announced morosely, prodding Seymour's corpse with his boot.

Red sighed, exasperated, but couldn't blame the man. Unfortunately, they _needed_ that money. They were running low on food, they hadn't had a drink in weeks, Gar had run out of razors, and Red was down to his last twelve bullets.

"Sherriff…" Red started slowly, "what if we got what Freak stole from you back? Could you pay us then?"

O'Grady, a portly gentleman of about sixty, sporting an incredible white moustache, nodded slowly. "Yep, and more, too, if you took those ruffians down while you were at it. There's about six of 'em, all told."

Red looked at Gar, who nodded. "We'll do it."

The two converged, and Red detailed the plan.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do. You find where most of the gang hide out. It's almost definitely gonna be the saloon, although I wouldn't recommend the front door." Gar nodded at this. "You go in and deal with them, I'll find the Freak."

Gar nodded. "This should take about five minutes."

Red smirked. "Tops."

* * *

Gar stood on a balcony, in the burning noonday sun. He slowly crept through the open window, and listened for the sounds of speaking that would pinpoint the bandits. There. Silently, he drew his main knife from its sheath on his lower back, the hilt extending to his right, for easy access. This one was different to his throwing knives- it wasn't counterbalanced, and it only had one edge, a curved one. He'd had it made custom, and had even specified a hook to be placed near the hilt, so he could twirl the blade like a revolver. It had cost him a small fortune, and he kept it almost religiously sharp.

It was going to need sharpening again, after today.

* * *

Red kicked the saloon doors open. What the hell, a guy can't make an entrance? Unfortunately, only rats were present to watch his display of macho bravado, and they were an unappreciative audience.

"Damn it, where are they?" He was answered by shouts coming from upstairs, followed by gunshots. Gar was getting to work. Just as Red was considering helping, a scream from outside diverted his attention.

Rushing outside, Red saw first a young black woman, yelling blue murder at a weighty man with long ginger hair, and pockmarked skin. He had the Sherriff in an arm lock, and held a knife to his throat. Red drew his revolver, and pointed it at the crook.

"Back off, or he gets it." The Freak tried-unsuccessfully- to keep the nerves from his voice.

"Well, well, Freak. Taking geriatric men hostage in the middle of nowheresville in a desperate bid to save your own skin over a few hundred dollars. You _have_ come up in the world."

"Shut up, bounty hunter." The Freak replied, keeping his eyes focussed on Red's revolver the whole time. He kept thinking of the barrel as a long, black tunnel, and fancied he could almost see a light at the other end…

Thus diverted, he failed to notice Red draw his other gun and shoot him in the foot. Well, he noticed being shot in the foot. He immediately let go of O'Grady, who span and fell to the ground. The young woman ran to his side as soon as he hit the floor, and Red simply squeezed the trigger of his first revolver.

At that moment, Gar walked nonchalantly out of the saloon, carrying a heavy looking sack.

"Well, I found their treasure trove, but O'Grady's estimate was off. There were eight; it's just that a bunch of them dressed real similar." He stopped when both he and Red noticed that O'Grady hadn't moved. "What's wrong with him?"

The woman looked up. "He's been stabbed- we need to get him to the physician in Brimstone, quick."

Red and Gar looked at each other. "When does the train to Brimstone get here?" Red asked for both of them.

* * *

Red sat on the train, staring out of the window. Gar stared at their charge, making sure that he hadn't passed on just yet. It had been like that for the last hour. Gar broke the silence.

"D'you think we'll ever get like that?"

"…Like what?"

"Like that." Gar pointed at O'Grady. "Old and weak."

Red shifted, uncomfortable with the line this conversation was taking. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gar looked at Red for the first time since the train ride had begun. "How old are you, Red?"

"Twenty-six."

"And I'm twenty-four. We're in our prime, but that's not gonna last. Do you think you'll be as good at what you do when you're thirty-six? Or forty-six? We can't hold on to any money we make, so what are we gonna do when we can't hunt bounties any more?"

Red stared right back. "I don't know about you, but I'll only accept that I'm too old for this game when they kill me."

Amazingly, Gar's face flooded with relief. "Good to get that settled, then."

* * *

When they got to the station, they found Brimstone's Sherriff waiting for them. He shook Red by the hand, while Gar passed O'Grady on to his deputy, a young black haired man, who Red assumed was colourblind. There was no excuse otherwise.

"Sherriff Wilson, at your service."

"Thanks."

"I understand that you gentlemen are bounty hunters."

"Yep." Red replied, feeling strangely uncomfortable. Wilson was an imposing physical prescence. His one eye, on his face, seemed not a disability, more a trophy. It screamed: _'I've been through so much worse than you, and _still_ came out with my life._ His voice _really_ spooked Red. It was like poisoned honey, all smooth and silky, but with a harmonic of murder. He gave off the feeling that, if he was on your side, it was only because it suited him for the moment. All in all, he was the sort of person you didn't want to be around too much.

"In that case, I may have some work for you. Stop by my office later, and I'll tell you what I'm talking about."

"Alright, then. Let's go, Gar."

"Deputy Grayson, take O'Grady to the physician."

"Yes, sir." Grayson said. Red smirked at the man. God help him if _he_ ever took a job like that.

"Hey, let's hit the saloon. I need to crash." Gar suggested once the law enforcers had left. Red nodded, and they walked off.

* * *

"Evenin', strangers. What'll it be?"

"A fifth of bourbon, a beer, and two rooms."

The bartender smiled. "Of course." He poured out the drinks, and handed over two keys. "Will that be all?"

"Not even close." Red smirked as he drank his bourbon in one swig, and Gar drank his beer.

After a while, and several more drinks, Red spoke.

"I'm gonna see that Wilson feller. We need a job in the area, and he's offering. You coming?"

Gar thought for a moment. "Nah. I'll crash, and you come get me when you've got the details."

With that, the two went their separate ways; Gar up the stairs to his room, and Red out into the early evening, to see what Wilson had in mind for them.


	4. LeBlanc

* * *

**Chapter 4: LeBlanc.**

Red stepped into the dingy Sherriff's office, his eyes taking a moment to adjust from the glare of white sand outside.

"Ah, the bounty hunter. May I have your name, before we conduct business?"

"Red."

"Thank you. You will be pleased to know that Sherriff O'Grady is in a stable condition."

Red was not reassured. "_Dead_ IS stable."

Wilson chuckled. "I assure you, he is far from death."

"Good. You had work for me?"

"Ah, yes." Wilson passed a poster over to Red, who found himself looking at a long, moustached face.

"And this guy is?"

"A Mr. André LeBlanc. He has a predilection for dynamite. He's travelling with a circus troupe that has been stirring up trouble recently."

Red nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. Our gunsmith, Mr. Victor Stone, recently went missing in the vicinity of their camp. If you find him in one piece, do endeavour to keep him that way. He's quite a promising young man."

"Alright." Red turned tail and left, wanted poster in hand.

* * *

"Gar. Time to go."

"Wxlfrgl."

"Gar, get your lazy ass out of bed, or I'll shoot you."

Needless to say, that worked.

"So, who's our target?" Gar asked as he pulled on his boots, having slept in his clothes.

"Some French guy called Leblanc."

"Anything special about him?"

"Well, he likes to blow shit up."

"Joy. Where is he at?"

"Some ruin or other. A circus troupe set up camp there. Oh, and if we see a gunsmith, we keep him alive."

"What does he look like?"

"No idea, but his name's Victor."

"So," said Gar, standing up, "let's go."

* * *

The pair dismounted at the foot of the hill, and proceeded with caution. Nodding to Gar, Red took up a defensive position as Gar crept slowly forwards, his soft shoes making no noise on the ground, and his crouched walk making it almost impossible to detect his movement. He had rolled in the dust at the bottom of the hill, to disguise the green of his clothes. Even Red, who knew where he was, had lost track of him.

"Hey! Hey! Heeeey!"

Damn it. So much for stealth, then. Red's eyes roved, trying to find the source of the voice. There. A large wooden cage, suspended in midair. An indistinct figure was hunched inside. Clearly, Gar had already noticed this, as he was climbing up one of the ruined shacks that littered the hilltop. When he had reached a dilapidated wooden roof, he took a deep breath and launched himself into a standing jump that carried him all the way to the cage. He clung desperately to the release handle, trying to attain enough momentum to swing the lever into the 'release' position.

"Oh no, nonononono, you don't wanna do that-" The man's complaints were cut off by two things- firstly, Gar managed to pull the lever, and subsequently, the cage suddenly lacked a floor. Chuckling, Gar dropped down next to the fallen heap of a man.

"You would be Victor, right?"

"Uhhh…"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"…Get off my hand…" With a start, Gar jumped to the right, releasing the man's hand. He pulled himself up, and Red, from his hidden vantage point, could appreciate just how _huge_ he was. Sitting down, his head still reached Gar's shoulder. He could see something else too. A sparkling, fizzing light, dancing erratically towards the two…

"Get down!" Red screamed, and fired wildly at the stick of dynamite, praying to a God he didn't really believe in that he didn't miss, and that it wasn't too late.

He didn't, and it wasn't. The stick blew in midair, sending Gar and Victor flying, but leaving them relatively unharmed. They both looked a bit dazed, though, so Red guessed he was up.

"LeBlanc, I'm guessing."

"_Mai oui_, my foolhardy opponent."

"My _God_ you're stereotypical."

The Frenchman grinned at this. "And _you_…are about to die." Red's eyes narrowed at this. He wasn't dying today.

Not if he had anything to do with it.

Red suddenly ran past LeBlanc into a ruined house, up a creaking flight of stairs, onto a gutted second floor. Lunatic throwing dynamite around the unconscious form of his best friend? Not an ideal situation. He ducked behind the ruined stub of an interior wall, and waited. He didn't have to wait long. LeBlanc quickly followed, and lit another stick of dynamite. The deranged European was about to toss the stick and beat a retreat when Red suddenly burst out from behind his makeshift cover and shot a hole in the his chest. The stick slipped from dead hands, and as Red leant over the man to make sure he was dead, he almost slipped on a cylindrical tube, almost like…

Oh shit.

* * *

Victor sat up, shaking his head to clear any trace of the concussion, but only succeeded in dizzying himself. Nonetheless, he wasn't too dizzy to notice the explosion that tore the whole top floor of one of the ruins into toothpicks. Less obvious, but still noticeable, was the dark figure diving from one of the windows, a huge plume of flame briefly following before the window collapsed outwards.

"AAAAAHHHHH!! I think my ass is on fire!" Red screamed as he ran around in circles.

"Stop, drop to the floor, and roll around for a bit!" Cried Gar. "That'll stifle the flames!"

Complying, Red soon found himself at an acceptable temperature, although his poncho was now burned all the way up to above his waist, with the edges ragged and charred.

"I think you need a new one, Red."

"Eeh, some time. I like it like this." Red smirked as he looked around on the ground.

"Looking for proof? Don't worry, I got something." Gar said

"What?"

"His head."

"…Lovely. Now let's go."

"Not without my baby."

"You have a kid?" Gar asked, incredulously.

"No. My baby." Victor's tone could have cut diamonds.

"Okay. Officially lost." Red contributed.

Victor sighed. It would be easier just to show them.

* * *

"_This_ is my baby!" Victor held the thing up for all to see.

"That's not a baby. That's a shotgun." Red's voice had a layer of Extra Banal.

"She's my pride and joy."

"She's a gun."

"And I'm a gunsmith. What's your point?" Victor's voice had a touch of defensiveness, which Red picked up on.

"Nothing. It's just a little underwhelming, that's all."

"Underwhelming? _Underwhelming?_" Victor's voice held the note of an outraged academic. Gar knew that this was his cue to intervene.

"Guys, we can argue about it all we like on the way back into town. Now come on."

"No." Victor's voice had taken on that tone again, the one you could bend castiron around.

"What?"

"I've got unfinished business with this guy's"- here he pointed to LeBlanc's head- "employer. I'm heading to Widow's Patch."


	5. Widow's Patch Reprisal

Chapter 5: Widow's Patch, Reprisal

**Chapter 5: Widow's Patch, Reprisal.**

Victor readied his shotgun as he entered the run-down hamlet that was Widow's Patch. The last thing he had heard that deranged circus freak say as he rode from the ruins was for LeBlanc to meet him in Widow's Patch. Victor hoped the man had been true to his word.

"Help…someone get me free! Please, someone, anyone, help!"

Victor frowned. What had the madman done? He crept forwards, and saw a young woman tied to the water butt in the centre of the village. Her eyes flicked towards him, and she looked about to say something, but Victor put a finger to his lips, signalling that she should be quiet.

"Ah, Mister Stone. It's good to see you unharmed."

Victor whirled and pointed his shotgun at the source of the nasal voice, but failed to find the man.

"What's the matter? Can't you see me?" The voice chuckled. "Well then, I shall have to present myself. Mumbo _Jumbo_!" A flash of smoke, which blew away on the night breeze to reveal a tall, lanky man, almost deathly pale, wearing a tattered suit and a collapsible top hat, which, while fine on the collapsibility, was somewhat lacking in hatness.

Without hesitation, Victor fired at the man, but was thwarted by another smoke bomb, which disoriented him, and by the time it appeared Mumbo was gone.

"He's behind you! On the roof!" The captive woman warned, and Victor turned to see Mumbo leaning nonchalantly on the blacksmith's sign attached to the roof.

"Now, now, Mr. Stone, must we solve this with violence?" At Victor's silent gaze, the magician sighed theatrically. "Very well. At-_laas_!" At this, a huge man, heavily tanned, burst from the saloon. Victor recognised him as the Circus strongman, Atlas Jones. "Remove this gentleman, there's a good fellow."

Immediately, Victor raised his shotgun, but Atlas barrelled into him, knocking it to the ground. Victor found himself grabbed in a vicelike grip, and was thrown backwards into a woodpile. Groaning, he stood up just in time to avoid a punishing blow, as Atlas swung his huge fists in a wild attempt to hit him. Taking the offensive, Victor caught both of Atlas's hands, and began slowly pushing him backwards. He could feel his muscles bunching under the strain, and it felt like they would burst. Atlas was so much stronger than he, but Victor felt there was one sure-fire way to even up the odds.

His eyes never leaving Atlas's, Victor swung his left leg up and, in one swift motion, kicked Atlas in the crotch.

Atlas reared up in pain, distracted for just long enough for Victor to push him back and roll forwards, retrieving his gun. As Atlas rushed him with murder in his eyes, he was flung back, Victor's 'baby' blowing a hole in his chest.

"Well, that's not fair!" Exclaimed Mumbo, in a put out voice, and leapt down on Victor.

With no time to reload, Victor activated one of the more _outlandish_ customisations to his weapon. He depressed a hidden button on the butt of his shotgun, and a spring-powered blade flipped out on the underside of the butt. Gripping the weapon by the barrel, he swung it with all his considerable might towards the advancing Mumbo.

The blade caught him in the throat.

As Mumbo gurgled his last breaths, Victor concerned himself with releasing the captive woman.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, thanks to you." The woman looked up at him with shining eyes. "My name's Beatrice, but you can call me Bea. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Anything?"

"Anything at all." Bea grinned at this.

"Well…you could tell me when the next train to Brimstone is."

"Oh." Bea's face fell at this. "Well, it's tomorrow morning. Do you have anywhere to stay?" She asked, a note of hope creeping back into her voice.

"Yup." Said Victor, effectively dashing those hopes. "Right here."

"Under the stars? Isn't that a bit cold?"

Victor shrugged. "I like it." With that, Beatrice stalked back into her house, muttering unrepeatable things about oblivious slabs of muscle.


	6. Jinx

**Chapter 6: Jinx.**

Red walked into the sheriff's office, and dropped LeBlanc's head onto Wilson's desk. Much to Red's chagrin, the man didn't even blink.

"It seems you completed your contract. And Mr. Stone?"

"Is fine. He said he had some business in Widow's Patch, but he should be back sometime soon."

Wilson nodded, apparently satisfied. He produced a small leather bag, and counted out the coins into Red's outstretched palm. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Got anything else for us?"

Wilson nodded. "Mr. Wayne, the barman, put this one up. I admit I am somewhat hesitant about this, but Mr. Wayne is adamant that she is a criminal." He handed Red a notice, showing a young woman, probably younger than Red, with extraordinary hair, which bunched up into two peaks.

"What'd she do?"

"Mr. Wayne claims that she was caught stealing from the register, and when she confronted him she fled. However, the head waitress, Miss Kyle, claims that this is false. Mr. Wayne, having a more important standing in town, is more readily listened to." Wilson frowned at this, but said nothing.

Red stared at the poster. "Where can we find her?"

Wilson pointed at the map of the area. "She was last seen in this area." He pointed to a canyon formation about ten miles to the north of Brimstone. "However, that was three days ago, so finding her might be a problem."

"No worries," grinned Red, "I know the best tracker in the business."

* * *

"I can't do it."

Red was perplexed. "Why not?"

Gar sighed. "You want me to find a girl based on four-day old tracks over rock? I may be good, but I'm not an animal. I can't sniff her out, or something."

Red let out a long, slow breath. "Well, I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

The area the girl had been spotted in was a long canyon, with plenty of crevasses and holes, but only one path. This made their job a little easier, but it was far from a walk in the park.

Red cursed as he lost his footing for the twentieth time, and almost plummeted to his death, saved only by his quick reactions and a handy shrub.

"Watch yourself Red." Gar said, unnecessarily. "Lotta shingle 'round here."

"Thanks. Next time you wanna warn me _before_ I fall over?"

A grin was his only response, and Gar leapt a chasm with deceptive ease. When Red tried the same thing, he only just made it, and wobbled crazily on the edge, before a green-clad arm grabbed him and yanked him to safety.

"Thanks." Red said, albeit grudgingly. He noticed Gar was looking at a specific point in the canyon, and Red followed his gaze, to a tumbledown shack, where a thin plume of smoke was rising from a gap in the slats that formed the roof.

"Bingo."

* * *

Red took point, revolver drawn. Gar hung back, in case the girl made it past Red and tried to escape. It wasn't likely.

Red slowly opened the shack's door, to find it empty, save for a small fire on the dirt floor, over which hung a small pot. Frowning, he stepped into the shack, but found nothing. His gaze fell on a large hole in the back wall, and he stepped through.

Immediately, a long tongue of leather snaked around his revolver, yanking it from his grip. The girl to whom the bullwhip belonged caught the weapon, and had it pointed at Red before he could draw his second.

"Wow. Wayne went to the expense of putting a bounty on me? That must have cost him a lot more than he _claims _I stole."

Gar, having heard the crack and the girl's voice, ran up to the two of them, but stayed back when he saw that she had the advantage.

"So, are you here to kill me?"

"That's my job, yes." Red replied.

"But I didn't _do _anything!" Jinx sounded desperate.

"Well, that's not what I was told."

"By Wayne?"

"Indirectly."

"He's just mad 'cause I wouldn't sleep with him. I told him, I'm a waitress, not one of his whores that walks around his saloon."

"Oh really?" Red grinned. He was starting to like this one.

"Yes. Look, I _really _don't wanna die. What have I gotta do to convince you I'm innocent?" Jinx sounded pleading.

"Well, giving me my gun back would be a start."

Jinx frowned. "But how do I know you won't just shoot me?"

Red grinned at this. "Honey, if I was gonna shoot you I woulda done it already."

"I don't believe _that_."

Quick as a flash, Red drew his second revolver, and aimed it at her.

"Okay, point taken." Jinx dropped the gun, and kicked it over to him. In response, Red holstered his weapon.

"So, what do we do now?"

"You let me go?" Jinx sounded hopeful.

"Hmm, much as I like the sound of that, I also kinda need the money."

Jinx frowned. "Well, how about this. I leave the territory, and you say I fell down a cliff or something."

"A good idea, but I need _some_ kind of proof."

In response, Jinx curled up her bullwhip, and tossed it to Red. "So, where you gonna go?"

Jinx paused. "I got an aunt out in Wyoming. I can stay with her for a while."

"I'll come and check on you."

At this, Jinx's grin turned sly. "I'll look forward to it."

Red tipped his hat. Until then."

"'Bye." Jinx waved, and walked away.

Red turned to gar, who was trying not to choke. "Not one word. Don't say anything. Just don't."

* * *

Red strode into Wilson's office, slightly nervous that the man wouldn't buy the story. Nevertheless, he put on a brave face and dropped Jinx's bullwhip on his desk.

"We got her."

"Did you now? Why could you not recover a body?"

Shit. "She fell off a cliff. I just managed to get hold of this." A sullen attitude might put the man off further questions.

"So, you killed her but she fell from a cliff. You couldn't catch her but you managed to catch her whip." Wilson held Red in his gaze for longer than the bounty hunter was comfortable with. "Yes, the townsfolk will accept that." Wilson seemed to be saying: _I know exactly what happened, but I'll let it slide because I want to. Just remember, you owe me, lad._ Slade sighed. "Unfortunately, there is a problem with your money. It seems that Wayne is having financial difficulties. You should talk it over with the banker; he can sort it out for you." Red nodded and walked out the door.

* * *

Gar stood in line, waiting patiently for the bank manager to finish with his client. Unfortunately, patience had never been one of his strong suits, and when he heard raised voices from inside, he couldn't resist having a listen in.

"…I don't think you understand. I can't pay you what I owe if the Governor insists on scaring away my farm hands." A female voice, somewhat gravely, but not unpleasantly so.

"Now, look here, Miss Roth, if you came here just to bad mouth Governor Scath-" A fussy, bureaucratic voice, probably the bank manager.

"I'll say whatever I want about _daddy_, but you won't get a cent from me if he doesn't stop. You can tell him that." Daddy?

"I most assuredly will, but don't you think it would be easier to simply sell up to the Governor and move into town? Maybe work in the saloon?"

The woman's voice, before so controlled, took on a scandalised note. "Work ni the saloon? What kind of whore do you think I am?"

"I assure you I meant no offense-"

The door suddenly swung open, and a young woman of about Gar's age slammed into him. She was his equal in height, with black hair cut short, and wearing a light blue short and black leather trousers. Gar held her gaze for a few moments, long enough certainly to wonder how she ended up with violet eyes, and then stepped aside, touching his forelock.

"Ma'am."

The woman simply huffed and stormed out of the bank. Gar shrugged and walked inside.

"Who was that?"

"That? Oh, that was Rachel Scath, although she goes by her mother's name. She's trying to break away form her pa, for some reason." The banker huffed, fiddling with papers on his desk. "Anyway, what can I do for you, sir?"

"It's about the gold from Mr. Wayne."

"Ah…yes…well, we have a small cash flow problem…it should be resolved within a few days."

Gar frowned at this. "What exactly is the cause of this problem?"

"You just saw her. She's borrowed money, and now she can't pay it back."

"Where does she live?"

"A small ranch, up in the shadow of Bear Mountain."

Gar smiled, inscrutably. "I'll come back in three days, then." With this, he turned and headed to the saloon, intent on informing his partner of what had transpired.


	7. Seperate Ways

**Chapter 7: Separate Ways.**

"So, what part of Mexico are you from?"

Red sighed. This drunk had been talking to him for half an hour. Seriously, how long was Gar going to spend in the bank? "I told you, I'm not Mexican. I'm Portuguese, on my mother's side." He said, the irritation plain.

The drunk paused, this new information requiring a lot of processing. Eventually he replied. "What part of Mexico is that, then?"

Red stood up and stormed off. As he passed a table, he heard the words "one armed man", and came to a dead halt.

"Yeah, so that guy, the military man with the one arm, where is he now?"

An older man, with the air of an information trafficker, leaned back and spoke. "I heard he has a fort on the Mexican border, where he runs smuggling."

"You sure? One arm, tall man, about sixty?"

"Yup. Colonel Sangre, he calls hisself."

Red was distracted by this conversation by the arrival of Gar.

"Hey, there's a problem with the money. They won't have it for a few days."

"Damn. Hey, once we've got ourselves a war chest, we need to head to the Mexican border." Red muttered.

"Why?"

"Personal business. It's important, trust me."

"Okay." Gar hesitated. "Listen, do you need me for tomorrow? 'Cause something interesting has come up, and I really wanna look into it."

Red looked sidelong at his friend. "Personal business?"

Gar grinned, and nodded.

"Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow at sundown, in here."

"Okay. I'll get going now then." With that, Gar left. Red strode towards the conversation he had overheard earlier, and said, in a jovial tone: "So, tell me about this one armed man."

* * *

Gar rode past several fields. The soil was good, as evidenced by the lush growth of the corn, but they had been left unattended for some time, if the copious amounts of weeds were anything to go by. Eventually, he came to a white farm house, in the shadow of the mountain. Further inspection showed that the house was on fire, and after a few seconds he heard gunshots. Startled, he spurred his horse onwards.

When he reached the white picket fence that surrounded the property, it looked to him that the Devil had come to town and brought a few friends. The house was burning, several men lay dead on the ground, and the smell of charred flesh hung in the air. Undeterred, he dismounted and ran in the direction of the gunshots.

* * *

Rachel swung her rifle at one of the men, having run out of bullets. It caught his jaw with a satisfying crack, and he fell to the ground, spitting out teeth. However, she knew she couldn't keep this up. Without ammunition, and with at least three men still armed and active, she knew it was a matter of time before she was overpowered. She didn't want to think what would happen then.

She was jolted back into reality by a gurgled scream, and a man fell backwards out of the barn, a knife in his throat. Another man ran towards the barn, but never got to the door, pinned to the ground by the knife buried up to the hilt in his forehead. Rachel picked up a six-shooter from a fallen man, and padded towards the building. Inside, she saw a young man, who looked vaguely familiar, plunge a blade into the chest of the final bandit. He turned, wiping his knife on the man's shirt, and gave her a reassuring smile. She wasn't reassured.

"I'll give you three chances to find a good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

The man looked panicked. "Err…because I'm smart, funny and generally awesome?"

Rachel's only response was to cock the hammer on the gun.

"Okay…because I haven't done anything wrong?"

Rachel snorted. "Is that an excuse around here, nowadays?"

"Okay, point." The man conceded. "Because I think I know how you can make five thousand dollars really, _really _quickly?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

Beaming, the man showed her a poster. She took it and studied it.

**Attention Gunslingers!**

**On September the Fifth, 1881****, Brimstone will hold the eighth annual**

**Battle Royal**

**The winner of which shall receive the sum of **

**5000 in gold, from Governor Scath himself.**

"Hmm. What would this entail?"

"It's a duelling contest. If you're quick enough on the draw, the cash is as good as yours."

"…I'll think about it."

"Good. Where are you staying?"

Why did this guy care? "I don't know."

"Oh. Well, you could stay in town!" The man's face lit up, for some inexplicable reason.

"Where?"

The man thought for a second. "How about the saloon? You could stay in my room!"

Silence reigned.

"I'm going to give you a chance to explain that, because I know there is _no way _that you meant that like it sounded like you did."

He nodded, seemingly amazed and thanking God that he was still in possession of his genitalia.

"What I meant was, me and my partner are gonna be out of town for a few days, but we're keeping up the rent on the rooms. I thought maybe you could stay in my room while I was gone, and make your mind up about what you were gonna do."

After a moment, Rachel nodded. It didn't seem like she had any other choice other than sit here and starve.

"Awesome! My name's Gar."

Rachel took the outstretched hand, albeit reluctantly. "As in the president?"

Gar winced. "Yes, my name _is_ Garfield, and _no_ I'm not related to the president."

Rachel frowned. "I wasn't going to suggest you were."

"You're in the minority, then. After he was shot, for about three weeks I got people offering me condolences."

"So, Garfield-"

"Gar."

"Sorry?"

"I _hate_ the name Garfield. I only allow one person to call me that, and that's because I can't get her to _stop_."

"…Alright then; Gar, shall we get going?"

Gar grinned. "Why yes indeed."


	8. The Tale of the One Armed Man

Chapter 8: The Tale of the One Armed Man

**Chapter 8: The Tale of the One Armed Man.**

"So, tell me about this one armed man."

The man at the table turned. "Excuse me, stranger, but as far as _I_ can figure, we ain't talkin' to you."

Red was not deterred. "Well, I'm talking to you, and I'd like to know about the one armed man, please."

The man was getting angry. "I said, we ain't talkin' to you."

Red dropped the pretence of friendliness, and hauled the man up by his collar. "The one armed man. I'd like to know about him, _please_."

The man, a burly Mexican, responded by kneeing Red in the stomach and throwing him backwards. The man drew a knife, and swung wildly at Red's face. Red pulled back, but not quickly enough, and the man scored a shallow cut on his face. Red responded by throwing a bottle at his assailant's head. The man, however, ducked. His friends got up from the table, but he waved them down. Red took advantage of the distraction and threw a punch at the man. It hit him dead on the nose with a satisfying crack, and Red had his knuckles painted crimson.

With a howl of rage, the man threw himself on Red, but his blows were sloppy and uncoordinated, and Red easily deflected him. The combatants broke off, and stared each other down. The Mexican went for his gun, but Red got there first.

Sheriff Wilson chose that moment to enter the saloon. His eye went from the corpse to the smoking gun in Red's hand.

"Alright, son. That's quite enough disturbing the peace for one day."

Wordlessly, Red handed over his gun and allowed himself to be taken away.

* * *

Wilson handed Red a damp cloth, which he used to clean his wound.

"Well, now. You were doing so well too. Why did you feel the need to go causing trouble?"

"Tell me what you know about the one armed colonel."

"What would you want with him?"

"He killed my folks." Red's voice had taken on a sullen expression.

Slade stared at Red for a long while. "Red…Red…Epps?" Red nodded slowly. "Son of Nathan and Marlene Epps?" Another nod. "Well well. This _is_ interesting. Clearly the reports of your death were exaggerated."

"Tell me what you know about the one armed man."

Wilson sighed. "You need to understand that your question has a rather larger answer than I think you expect."

"Don't care."

"I didn't think you would. Very well. Nowadays he is known as Colonel Sangre, but only because most of his new recruits are Mexican.

"His name is Sebastian John Blood. He was a promising colonel in the Confederate Army, but after the surrender he went rouge, taking most of his men with him. They constructed a fort on the American-Mexican border, and began smuggling, raiding, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

"I believe his idea was to cause enough trouble that he Cavalry would need to be called in, so he could have the battle he had been denied during the Civil War. However, before that suicidal plan was completed, he stumbled across a man calling himself Scat."

Red frowned. He had heard that name before, somewhere.

"He initially was going to kill Scat, thinking him a spy. However, Scat persuaded him to spare his life in exchange for half of the gold in the claim he had just discovered. The only thing in the way was Scat's partner, Nate Epps.

"Blood and his men rode to your father's home and killed him, thus making the entire claim the property of Scat, and, subsequently, the joint property of Scat and Blood. Since then, Blood has constructed a large mining facility on Bear Mountain, and has had a railroad built between the mine and his fort. He has even built a special train to transport it."

"How do you mean, 'special'?"

Wilson smirked. "Well, it is no exaggeration to say that it could start a small war, and indeed finish one too."

"Where can I find him?"

Slade smiled his inscrutable smile. "Every Wednesday, he personally delivers gold to Scat, in a special wagon. They change horses about twenty miles from here, in an abandoned fort, little more than a ruin now. There would be your best chance to strike."

"Thanks for your help."

Slade merely nodded. "Deputy Grayson?" Red noticed for the first time the young man sitting in the corner. "Release this man. He has a job to do." Grayson complied, with a small scowl.

* * *

Red stared at his reflection in the mirror. The cut across his face was red and would scar. It was long, starting just below his left eyebrow, and crossed the bridge of his nose to end on his right cheek, in one long, thin, line. Near the top, it neatly bisected an older scar of his, a slash across his forehead. The combination of the two wounds looked like a crude sketch of a sword, or something.

"Hey, Red. Here you've been causing trouble." Gar. Well, it _was _sundown.

"How'd your trip go?" He turned to see Gar grinning like a loon. "Well, I take it."

"You could say that. Certainly interesting."

"Interesting how?"

"Well, as of now there is a very pretty young woman in my room." When Red raised his eyebrow, Gar added: "Well, we're going to be gone for a couple of days, so I let her stay in my room for a while."

Red shrugged. "We need to get to an old fort twenty miles outside of town for Wednesday."

"Why?"

"Let's just say it's personal."

"Okay." Gar knew about Red's past, and had could tell that that was involved. Red only used _that_ tone when talking about his family, which wasn't often.

"You want I should find out where this ruin is?"

"Please. We need to get going as soon as we can, and I need to clean this addition to my collection." Red gesticulated at his face.

"It's a beauty, that's for sure." Gar was still grinning as he left. Red sighed, and shook his head, wondering what the hell that guy always found so funny.


	9. Best Laid Plans

Chapter 9: Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 9: Best Laid Plans.**

Red scrambled down the bluff, almost breaking his neck in the mad dash. The moment he hit the ground, he rolled and headed towards the rocky outcrop Gar was crouched behind. They had seen the stage headed their way, going far too fast to make a direct assault practical. As Wilson had conjectured, their only chance came when the coach changed horses. Gar looked at Red, who nodded. Slowly, Gar slipped over the rock and padded towards the ruin. He seemed almost insubstantial as he neared the waiting horses, a gift honed by years of practice. However, just as he was about to reach his goal, and turn the horses loose, Red saw him stumble and fall, a rifle butt to the head knocking him out cold.

"Oh hell." Red abandoned stealth, and ran blindly towards his friend, determined to somehow salvage the situation. When he entered the fort, he was greeted with the sight of the man from his home five years ago, surrounded by his men. As Red dived for his pistol, he heard a thundering crack, and knew no more.

* * *

Unbeknownst to all the protagonists, when the bandits loaded the two bodies onto the stagecoach, they were observed by a pair of green eyes.

* * *

The young woman ran through the dark forest, her lithe form slipping through the trees as if she had done it all her life, which was more or less true. As she reached the outskirts of her village, she did not slow, but rather accelerated, thundering towards the clearing the elders inhabited. When she entered, she prostrated herself at the feet of the centremost elder, a huge man with a long, full beard.

"Elder Galfore, I bring terrible news!" The woman wailed.

"Speak, Star Fire." Galfore rumbled.

"Adopted Brother Garfield has been captured by the miner!"

Galfore scowled. "Then you must go to him, Star Fire. But take care; the miner has many agents in these woods."

Star Fire nodded, and ran from the village, in the direction of the peak of Bear Mountain.

* * *

Red sat up, rubbing his head.

"You're up."

"Gar. Good to see you aren't dead yet."

"And you."

"Know where we are?"

Gar waved his hand around their cell, which was nothing more than a shallow cave with bars at one end. "Yep. We're in Blood's mine on Bear Mountain."

"How'd you figure that?"

"I was from around here. You get to know the terrain."

Red nodded, losing interest. "See any way out?"

"Yep. Give me fifty years, and these bars'll rust right through."

Red sat back, the cold rock easing the splitting headache that was reminding him exactly why he had fallen unconscious.

* * *

Star Fire leaned against a tree, an arrow readied. The mountain was crawling with warriors of the Green Snake, sworn enemies of the Lone Wolves, and in the employ of Blood. She had managed to avoid most of them, but this one was proving most persistent. He was dressed in bear skins, and had kept the claws. Breathing in, she loosed an arrow blindly in his direction, and scrambled up the tree, using her arms and knees. Once she found a stable branch, she scanned the area. There, about thirty feet away, her assailant was sneaking up on her tree, assuming that she remained behind it. Star Fire determined that it was time to cure him of his delusion.

Notching an arrow to her bowstring, she stood on the branch and took aim. It was a poor shot, and hit the man in the shoulder. His shouts of pain would alert his fellows. Star Fire needed to silence him, and quickly. Taking aim, this time the arrow flew true, and punctured the man's heart. Dropping to the forest floor, Star Fire stooped by her fallen enemy to recover her arrows, and ran on into the night. She was running out of time.

* * *

Red sat back, regaining as much strength as he could. He was sure he would need it. He turned to Gar, and noticed he had cocked his head, listening intently. Red was about to ask him what was wrong, but was waved into silence. After a moment, Gar relaxed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, I just thought-"

"Garfield?"

Gar froze, a smile threatening to split his face in two. "Only one person in the world could pull off a sneak like that and then announce herself so loudly." He turned to the bars with a grin. "Star. It's been a while."

"Garfield!" The girl pulled Gar into a fierce hug, impeded only slightly by the bars of the cell.

"Star, ssh!" Gar croaked out through the embrace.

"Oh! I apologise, brother!" The woman hissed.

"Brother?" Red's voice contained a hint of amusement.

"Adopted." Gar said, glancing his way. "Star, this is my friend, Red. Red, this is my adoptive sister, Star Fire."

"Greetings, new friend Red."

Red's only response was a low, appreciative whistle.

Star Fire looked nonplussed. "I am…confused."

Gar chuckled. "Don't worry. It means he likes you." Nonetheless, the daggers that Gar shot at Red advised him not to continue.

"We must get you both out of here! Where are the keys?"

"Don't." Red interjected. "If Blood wanted to kill us, he'd have done it at the ruin. He'll take us to his fort first; he probably wants to talk to us."

Gar nodded. "Star, do you know Brimstone at all?"

Star Fire was quiet for a moment. "I know where it is."

"Good. Go there, and find the Sheriff's office. Tell him what happened, maybe he can help. His deputy's okay too, I guess."

"Is there anyone else I could talk to?"

Red answered. "Yep. The gunsmith, Victor Stone. He owes us one. A big black guy, bald."

Gar spoke up. "Rachel might help too."

Star Fire smiled oddly at Gar at this. "Rachel? Who is this Rachel?"

Amazingly, this question made Gar uncomfortable. "Oh, just a friend", said Gar scratching his head. "She's about my height, with black hair, and violet eyes. She's a bit grouchy, but she's a nice enough person, she should help."

Star Fire nodded. "I shall return soon. If you are not here, I shall lead your friends to the fortress." With that, she slipped into the night, as undetectable as she had been when she arrived.

Red smirked. "I think she likes me."

Gar laughed lightly. "She likes everybody. Don't look too much into it." His face suddenly turned serious. "And if you go after her, I'll have to break both your legs."

"What, why?"

"'Cause I know what you're like with women, and Star doesn't."

Red grinned. "I suppose."

* * *

Star Fire trudged along the road to Brimstone, exhausted. As such, she was overjoyed when she was overtaken by a cart being driven by a sizeable bald man.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Are you headed towards Brimstone?" Star Fire's voice positively _oozed_ hope.

"Yes indeed. Need a lift?" Star Fire nodded, and scrambled onto the back of the cart, which was piled high with boxes.

After a while, Star Fire broke the silence. "What do these boxes contain?"

"Metals, powders, charges, bullets, dynamite. Tools of the trade."

"Oh." Something in the young woman's voice made the man turn around.

"Why?"

"I believe I was followed." Star Fire stared pensively at the clouds of dust that signified riders approaching from the south.

A/N: I know that it seems a little unconventional for BB to be Star's (admittedly adopted) brother, but it's an AU, and I'm going to do whatever the hell I want, for in this totally fictional world, I am KING. Bow, knaves. Or just review. In fact, reviewing would be preferable. I can't see if you're bowing or not.


	10. Posse

Chapter 10: Posse

**Chapter 10: Posse.**

Star Fire loosed another arrow at the advancing horsemen. It fell short, but not as short as the last one had. Still, they were keeping their distance for the moment. She was sure that would not last.

"So, what's your name?" The man turned slightly in his seat, shouting over his shoulder.

"Star Fire! And yours?"

"Victor!"

"Stone?"

"Yeah! Do I know you?"

"No, but Red claims that you owe he and Garfield a favour, and I was sent to find you!"

"Really? What do they want?"

"I believe that now is not the ideal moment to discuss this!"

"Okay!"

A rider drew alongside, and aimed his revolver in Star Fire's general direction.

"Please, leave now! I do not wish to hurt you!"

At this, the riders burst into raucous laughter. With no options left, Star Fire loosed an arrow at the nearest man. It caught him in the neck, and he tumbled from his horse with a gurgle. That shut them up.

"¡Puta! Kill her!"

Well, shut some of them up, anyway.

Star Fire threw herself flat as the bullets started whistling, and hoped that none penetrated the wood of the cart.

"Burn the cart! Set this bitch alight!"

Uh oh. Taking a chance, Star Fire got up on her knees, and fired at the nearest man. Unfortunately, she missed her target, but instead hit his horse. She watched, horrified, as the animal bucked and tumbled, causing several others to trip over it.

"Good shot!"

_Good shot? I just killed an innocent!_ Nonetheless, Star Fire took aim again. There were still many riders to fight.

* * *

Rachel yawned, and sat up. She looked around at her- Gar's- room. It was certainly comfortable, and she felt secure with the heavy bolts and locks on the door. She saw a green poncho. Certainly Gar's. Every item of clothing he owned was green.

Gar. Lately, her thoughts had all seemed to come back to him. He was…_intriguing_. He was quite unlike anyone she had ever met. He was exuberant, and far more cheerful than Rachel felt any human being had the right to be, and he was as stubborn as a mule, but he was also funny, and charming in his own way. The fact that he was the first person to actually try to get to know her in seventeen years didn't hurt, either.

They had talked quite a lot on the ride into town. Well, he had talked quite a lot. She had just made the occasional comment, but had mostly listened. She had made several scathing observations, mostly out of habit, and a subconscious mistrust of anyone going out of their way to actually do something for her benefit, but he had taken little notice, or simply laughed.

She had to admire his persistence, at least.

* * *

The cart rolled into Brimstone, depositing its hitchhiker. When she had explained what Red and Gar needed, Victor had been positively enthusiastic. He was going to find this "Rachel" that Gar had gone out of his way to mention- Star Fire smiled lightly at the way his face had lit up when he talked about her- while she would find the sheriff. Walking up to the office, she knocked on the door.

Deputy Dick Grayson was bored out of his mind. He was sitting with his feet on the desk, while he waited for Sheriff Wilson to get back from his weekly meeting with the Governor, which always put him in a foul mood.

Truth be told, Grayson was chafing under Wilson's direction. He felt that his life was passing him by, and all he was doing was waving. He was starting to consider quitting, but his only skill was in keeping the peace. He couldn't farm, he couldn't raise cattle, he had no skill with metal, and the town already had a barman. He was stirred from his bleak thoughts by a knock, and, muttering under his breath, he went to answer it.

All semblance of rational thought was vaporised by the figure that waited outside. The figure, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Grayson was melting into a puddle on the doorstep, began to speak.

"Excuse me; I am looking for the Sheriff. Is he available?"

_No, but I am._ "He's in a meeting at the moment, ma'am. Perhaps I could help?"

"Who would you be?"

Right. This was his chance. He took aim, fired- "I'm Dick- I mean, Richard- I mean… I'm Deputy Grayson" –and misfired, blowing his hand off. _Smooth, Dick. Smooth._

"Greetings. You can indeed help." The figure didn't seem to notice Grayson making an idiot of himself, to his eternal gratitude. "Are you familiar with the two individuals Red and Garfield?"

"The bounty hunters?"

"I believe that is their profession, yes."

"What of them?"

"They require your assistance. They have been imprisoned by the miner."

"The miner?"

Star Fire paused. "I believe you would know him as Colonel Sangre, I have heard him called."

Grayson nodded. "Alright. I'll help." _As long as you're going too._ "What's your name?"

The vision smiled. "Star Fire."

* * *

Victor stood at the door of one of the rooms in the saloon and knocked. Finding the girl hadn't taken long- violet eyes aren't exactly common.

"Yes?" The voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. It unnerved Victor more than he liked to dwell on, especially since it came from a girl barely more than half his height, and probably a third of his weight.

"Are you Rachel?"

"Yes."

"Good. Gar needs your help."

"What happened?" The voice betrayed the barest hint of concern, which alleviated some of Victor's fears about the girl.

He outlined the situation briefly, and when he finished he saw Rachel clutching a rifle. His experienced eye ran over it, and saw that it was a beautiful piece of machinery.

"Let's go." Victor nodded. That had been a lot easier than he had expected.

* * *

Rachel looked at Star Fire, who was riding beside her. Who was she? How did she know Gar? Why was she always so damn _polite_? Well, one way to find out.

"So, Gar's a friend of yours, huh?"

The young woman nodded. "Indeed. I have known Garfield for many years."

_Garfield?_ "He told me that he only allows one person to call him that. Would that be you?"

Star Fire giggled slightly. "Yes. It took him almost a year to get used to it, but since I called him that all day, he eventually got used to it."

"Oh." _Damn._ "He seems a nice guy." _Stop talking. Now._

"Indeed. He is a wonderful person, although he does have a tendency to snore." Another giggle. Bitch.

_Okay. She has a sort-of pet name for him, which he at least tolerates, but only from her. She's clearly known him for years, and is familiar with his sleeping habits. _

As Rachel reviewed this information, one thought floated into her mind. _So much for that, then._


	11. Crazy Train

Chapter 11: Crazy Train

**Chapter 11: Crazy Train.**

Red sat on the floor of the carriage, watching the prairie slip away. He wished he'd had a chance to better examine this train, but he and Gar had been loaded on with worrying speed. It seemed that this 'Blood' didn't like being kept waiting. He had been separated from Gar, and thrown into here. It looked like a store room. Foodstuffs, tins, dried things; well, he wouldn't starve, at least. The mutter of voices outside drew his attention, and he pressed his ear to the door. It wasn't like he had anything else to do.

"I'm telling you, this _gringo_ knows something."

"Yeah, and? That's why he's going to the fort."

"So, why don't we save them the trouble? We could 'ask' him now."

"And you know what it is they want, you being so smart?"

"No, but _he_ probably will."

"'He'?"

"The _gringo, idiota._"

This sounded bad.

A sigh. "You do what you want. Just remember what Sangre will do if he's not in one piece."

"Why? He only needs a mouth to talk."

Scratch that. This was _very _bad. Red backed away from the door, as a burly Mexican opened it, and pointed a revolver at Red.

"Alright. You got three seconds to-"

Red didn't waste time finding out what he had three seconds to do, and kicked the man's weapon out of his hand. As the figure tried to recover, Red drove his knee into the man's crotch, doubling him over. As he toppled to the ground, Red didn't waste the opportunity to kick him as he went down. He probably would have continued, if a clicking sound from the door hadn't distracted him.

"Pedro, Pedro, you _idiota_. Alright, _gringo_, step away from him, and let him get up." Another man, presumably the second guard, pointed a shotgun at Red, who wisely stepped back.

The man seemed unperturbed by the state of his companion; indeed, he appeared to derive great amusement from it. "I told you…" Any further communication was muffled by the close of the door, and the ratchet of the key in the lock. Red slumped down, leaning against a sack of meal, and awaited whatever lay in wait for him at Blood's fort.

* * *

Victor sat on his steed, a huge creature, akin to a warhorse. He grasped his beloved shotgun, looking around nervously. He _hated_ the forest at night. The fact that it was crawling with murderous Indians didn't help.

"How long you reckon she's gonna be?" Dick sounded edgy, and Victor couldn't blame him.

Rachel gave an uninterested grunt, and Victor was about to agree, slightly more politely, when their guide returned.

"They are gone. They must have been taken to the fort."

Victor nodded. "Then that's where we're going."

"We must hurry. We have much ground to cover, and every second they are held by this nefarious man is another second that they are in danger."

Rachel scowled with the effort of deciphering what exactly the strange woman meant. "English wasn't your first language, was it?"

Star Fire shook her head meekly.

* * *

Red sat on the wooden floor, dying for a smoke. He was concentrating on this, as it was the least gloomy thing he had to think about. His depressing thoughts were interrupted by the slam of a door, and the sight of the two guards from earlier grabbing him by the forearms and knocking him out with a blow from a rile butt.

* * *

He awoke just in time to find himself tossed into a cell with Gar, and left.

"Gar, you up?"

"Hmmm…five minutes." Gar rolled over and curled up.

"Gar, you ass, wake up."

Hmmm…comfy."

Red kicked Gar in the ribs.

"Alright, alright, I'm up."

Red glanced around, to make sure they weren't overheard. "Okay. The others are probably on their way. Do we wait it out, or try to break out on our own, and hope we meet them?"

Gar thought about it for a moment. "Well, I'm not a big fan of being tortured, which will almost certainly happen if we stick around, so I say we make a break for it."

Red nodded, and Gar got to work. Creeping up to the bars of the cell, he watched as the lone guard walked up and down, ending just opposite their cell. He turned, and exposed his back to their cell bars.

Gar glanced at Red in momentary confusion, who merely shrugged. Rolling his eyes at the guard's bucolic stupidity, he reached down, and, slipping his hand through the bars of the cell, he purloined the man's dagger. Before the man could react, Gar stabbed him in the kidneys, and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, to prevent him from falling. While Gar held the cadaver there, Red rifled through the guard's pockets. Finding the bunch of keys, he also relieved the man of his six shooter, and Gar let the corpse drop. After a complicated moment, Red managed to get the right key in the lock, and turned it. The door creaked open, and the pair wasted no time in recovering their weaponry fro the guard's room.

The escape was on.


End file.
